


Our Old Friend Fear and You and Me

by iaintafraidofnoghostbear



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Lawson Crouse/Travis Konecny - Freeform, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Non-Sexual Slavery, Rape Aftermath, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 09:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18914305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iaintafraidofnoghostbear/pseuds/iaintafraidofnoghostbear
Summary: The world isn't a kind place, something Nolan is learning the hard way. But there are kind people, and sometimes they come around at just the right time.





	1. Ivan

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I have to thank tampa_bae_frightening for being an absolute rockstar of a friend and holding my hand while I worked on this fic.  
> Second of all, there are a lot of tags on this for a reason, and you can read more on that in the end notes. But please know, I love Ivan Provorov but this story just ... grew legs and he's not the best person in it.

Nolan’s ushered into a room with the rest, hair quickly combed and a couple locks braided delicately too keep it out of his face. He gets a swathe of ribbons tied around his right wrist - blue, white, rainbow, pink - all signals, indicators of his traits for any of his potential suitors to assess at a glance. A single black one - a literal black mark on his record - denotes his sickliness, and his throat goes tight. Someone straightens his shirt, attempting to tug out the wrinkles before moving on to the next. He’s lost Nico in the crowd, but he can’t worry about that now. They’re turned out onto the ballroom floor, every head in attendance turning toward them and Nolan already feels himself blushing. 

 

For a short while, they’re allowed to wander, making required laps of the room so that any interested parties can get a good look at them. Nolan shies away from a tall man with scarred hands and cold eyes, hoping that he won’t be the one to pick him; in the process, he knocks into Miro who startles, and the two of them trying to right themselves earns a laugh from a nearby woman. 

 

Finally, an invisible signal seems to pass through the room. A tall, broad brunette comes up to Miro, resting a hand on the small of his back and ever so gently guiding him through the crowd. Nolan can practically feel his heart beating in his throat, and he’s hard pressed not to pull away when a hand touches his shoulder. Turning around, he’s internally relieved to find the person behind him isn’t the frightening-looking man from before. This man is closer to his age, faint traces of acne and the rough stubble of someone who is not yet able to grow a full beard. 

 

“Join me?” he asks in a low, quiet voice. His hand is touching but not gripping and something about that is soothing. Nolan lets him guide them through the crowd to one of the many private booths set up. A waiter stops by and Ivan asks for champagne for them both before settling across from Nolan at the table. 

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“N-Nolan,” he mumbles, cringing instinctively; he should know well enough to speak clearly by now, but - 

 

“Don’t be afraid,” the stranger soothes, reaching out to curl his fingers around Nolan’s. “I know this is - unpleasant. But I’m not going to hurt you.” 

 

The strangers hands are calloused in places, strong, but exceedingly gentle as he sweeps a thumb over the back of Nolan’s hand. “I’m Ivan.” 

 

Nolan doesn’t know what to say, so he nods and is thankfully saved from having to speak by the return of the waiter, who leaves them with two champagne flutes and a chilled bottle. The lessons he’d had drilled into him the past few months kick in, and he stands, carefully uncorking the bottle. He tries not to be visibly relieved when it doesn’t foam, but his hands shake as he tries to pour for them, and he manages to knock over one of the glasses reaching for it. Ivan catches it quickly, righting it so it doesn’t roll onto the floor. Nolan’s stammering an apology, biting his lip when Ivan shushes him gently. 

 

“It’s alright. You’re scared. Let me.” Ivan gestures for him to sit and finishes pouring the champagne, sliding a glass over to Nolan that he takes carefully. It’s cool and sweet on his tongue, bright carbonation against his palate, better than the cheap, lukewarm stuff they’d practiced with before. 

 

Ivan takes a few slow sips himself before sitting forward. He taps Nolans left wrist, fingering at the soft silk of the black ribbon there. “Would you tell me what this is for?” 

 

Dropping his gaze, Nolan takes a shaky breath. “I get … sick easily. And hurt.” 

 

There’s no response forthcoming, and - when Nolan looks up - he can’t read the expression on Ivan’s face. “Where are you from?” 

 

The questions come like that, slow and one at a time, each response measured thoughtfully before moving onto the next. Nolan’s almost lulled into relaxing, until Ivan asks, “Do you know what I am?” 

 

Nolan feels his heart skip a beat. He knew there was a chance there would be non-humans here, but he hadn’t thought- “N-no.” 

 

Ivan is completely silent for a moment. “Do you know what an incubus is?” 

 

“Y-yes.” Nolan does. They’d covered non-humans in school a few years ago. He doesn’t remember a lot of detail, but he remembers the basics and - now that he’s looking for it - he can see the thin, silvery, reflective ring around Ivan’s iris. He knew it was probable he’d be wanted for sex, but to hear it - he has to put his glass down before he spills it. 

 

Ivan continues with his slow questioning. It seems like forever and a mere handful of minutes before a bell rings, startling Nolan and sending an odd hush over the room. Ivan pulls a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket, then, scribbling quickly and folding the note, tucking it into Nolan’s shirtpocket. He moves them out of the booth then, and Nolan’s quickly rounded up by a handler who ushers him toward the stage. They’re stopped for a moment by the frightening man from before, who also roughly stuffs a note in Nolan’s shirtpocket. His heart sinks as, one by one, they start being flaunted across the stage and the notes pulled from their pockets prove to be offers. Nolan holds his breath when the two lonely notes in his shirt are pulled out and examined, and he nearly misses hearing Ivan’s name called he’s panicking so badly. 

 

Ivan’s there to collect him as he stumbles off the stage, a handler pushing him roughly toward his new - owner? Master? Ivan steadies him with a grip on his elbow, shooting an inscrutable look toward the handler before whisking Nolan off. He stops long enough to write a check, and Nolan pointedly doesn’t look at the amount. He’d rather not know. 

 

There’s a sleek black car waiting, and Nolan’s more surprised than he should be when a chauffeur comes around to open the doors for them. Ivan lets Nolan slide in first, then steps in behind him. He’s warm, and Nolan had gotten chilled on the brief walk from the door to the car in the cold drizzle that had started. A shiver escapes him despite himself, and suddenly Ivan’s leaning forward, asking the driver to turn up the heat. Wrapping an arm around Nolan’s shoulders, he draws him close and rubs his arm. 

 

“Sorry. I didn’t realize your jacket was so thin. You must be freezing.” 

 

“I’m okay,” Nolan murmurs. He’s scared but he folds into Ivan’s warmth anyway, feeling shivers continue to run down his spine. The car is toasty by the time they get home; Nolan’s loath to get out and into the chilly, now-heavy rain, but he has no choice. He’s chilled again by the time they’re up the steps and in the foyer of the house, hair dripping cold rainwater down his neck. A butler comes to take their coats, and then Ivan is ushering him up the stairs. 

 

“I’ll get you some dry things to wear,” he says quickly as he leads him to the bathroom. “You should shower and get warm.” 

 

Nolan’s grateful when the door closes behind Ivan. He strips out of his wet clothes, folding and laying them on the counter, not knowing what else to do with them. The shower feels wonderful. It has better water pressure than Nolan can ever remember experiencing, deliciously hot so it warms him right up. There are nice smelling soaps and shampoos that Nolan uses to wash himself down quickly. He hears the door open and close briefly, but no one intrudes on his shower. 

 

He finds the bathroom empty when he steps out, and dry pajamas are in the place of his wet things. There are no boxers, so he just pulls on the sleep pants and soft tee shirt as soon as he’s towelled off. Next to the clothes are a fresh tube of toothpaste, a new toothbrush, and a bottle of mouthwash, so Nolan takes the hint and brushes his teeth, grateful for the minty taste. 

 

Finally finished, he braces himself to face the house again. The bathroom opens into what must be the master bedroom; there’s a huge bed right in the middle and plenty of space all around. Ivan’s sitting at a desk off to the side on his phone, tie undone and suit jacket discarded. He glances up for a moment and offers Nolan a brief nod before he goes back to his conversation. It’s not in English - Russian, Nolan thinks - so he can’t understand any of it. 

 

Fidgeting for a moment, Nolan crawls into the bed to find it wonderfully soft. The covers are heavy and the warm weight of them pulls him toward sleep faster than he thought possible. He feels it when the bed dips as Ivan joins him, but there are no hands on his body like he expects. Instead, Ivan keeps to his side of the bed and - after a while - Nolan actually drifts off to sleep. 

 

Of course, nothing can be that easy. He wakes the next day feeling fevered, sweat sticking his clothes to his body. The room spins as Nolan tries to sit up and he shivers when the cooler air of the room hits him. He lays back down still shivering, tucking himself back under the blankets. Nolan can’t tell how much time passes between then and when strong hand lands on his forehead. He blinks his eyes open to find Ivan looking down at him, brow furrowed, and he tries to push himself up, sending himself into a coughing fit that makes him wheeze

 

“No, take it easy. You’re sick.” Ivan eases him back down, tucks him in as he catches his breath. “Just rest.” 

 

Time is hazy, Nolan losing hours as he sleeps through the fever, only waking from his own coughing and when Ivan plies him with water, helping him to sit up and drink. Eventually, there’s a doctor, peeling back his covers and exposing him to the cold air of the room. He flinches at the icy touch of a stethoscope and the cool hands as he’s examined. Then the doctor is gone and Ivan’s tucking him in again, sitting on the bed quietly. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Nolan rasps, shame prickling at his eyes. 

 

“Don’t be. You’re not well. We’ll have medicine for you soon.” 

 

Nolan drops off for a while before Ivan’s nudging him awake again. He helps Nolan take the first dose of medication. The cough syrup that accompanies the pills is sticky-sweet, nearly foul, but it eases his cough and makes Nolan drowsy. He feels slightly better the next day, enough to sit up and sip at the soup the butler brings under Ivan’s watchful gaze. 

 

The fever seems to come and go for the next day or so. Ivan is in and out as well, at one point putting on another fine suit and apologizing quietly before ducking out of the room. His butler - Misha - checks in periodically while Ivan is out, but doesn’t speak to Nolan much. 

 

Day three brings the end of the fevers. Nolan stumbles to the bathroom under his own power and showers, grateful for the extra robe behind the door when he realizes he has no idea where his things are - if he even  _ has _ things. 

 

“You’re up,” Ivan says, surprised. He’s at his desk again, mail in stacks in front of him. “How are you feeling?” 

 

“I’m better. Thank you. I-I’m sorry. I hope you didn’t spend too much.” Nolan winces when Ivan frowns, standing up from his desk. 

 

“The money doesn’t matter. Let’s get you dressed so you don’t catch a chill again.” 

 

It’s a surprise to find his things in the walk-in closet. His belongings aren’t much - some pictures of his family, a small duffel of clothes, a battered mp3 player - but it’s a relief to see them all the same. Ivan leaves him to let him get dressed, but is still frowning when Nolan emerges from the closet. 

 

“Is - is something wrong?” Nolan questions nervously, trying not to fidget. 

 

“Are you warm enough in those?” Ivan’s phrasing is careful, neutral, but he’s eyeing the threadbareness of Nolan’s socks and the holes in his jeans. 

 

He doesn’t mean to say it, but Nolan ducks his head and shrugs. “They’re mine.” 

 

“And that’s okay,” Ivan says slowly. “You can keep your things, Nolan. But if you’re cold, I have warm things you can wear until we can get you new clothes.” 

 

It seems silly, stupid to want to hang on to old, battered clothes but Nolan can’t find it in himself to part with them. Still, he nods, going back into the closet with Ivan not far behind. While Nolan tucks his socks and jeans back into his bag, Ivan digs out a thick pair of socks and warm sweatpants. 

 

“We’re not going anywhere today. You might as well be comfortable. My jeans won’t fit you, anyway,” Ivan tells him as he hands them over. “I’m going to head down for lunch, if you want to join me.” 

 

Nolan is warmer, he has to admit, when he’s pulled them on. The socks protect his feet from the cool hardwood floors, and the sweats are warmer than his holey jeans. He pads uncertainly through the halls and down the stairs. The scent of breakfast food leads him to the kitchen from there. Ivan’s settled at the table with a plate of food and coffee; there’s a clean plate and silverware set out opposite from him, the place clearly meant for Nolan. 

 

“You do look better.” The comment startles Nolan as he carefully adds food to his plate. He looks up at Ivan who’s studying his face. “How’s your chest?” 

 

There’s a rattle, still, when he breathes in, and Nolan relays this to Ivan, who nods. “You should probably stay inside for a while, yet. It’s snowed since you got here.” 

 

Surprised, Nolan glances out the window to find Ivan’s words to be true. The trees and buildings he can see have snow piled on them, wet and dropping in clumps periodically as the bright winter sun beats down. 

 

It’s quiet for a while, then. Ivan doesn’t pay Nolan much mind as he reads the paper between sips of coffee. There’s more food on the table than the two of them could possibly finish, but Nolan makes a dent. He starts with fresh fruit to test his stomach, then moves on to thick oatmeal sweetened with brown sugar. It’s enough to leave him queasy, but he’s not going to complain. He hadn’t been starved, per se, but he’s not sure he can remember the last time he was full, either. 

 

A maid comes in to start packing leftovers away as Ivan gets up from the table, and Nolan follows him out. 

 

“I have meetings this afternoon. I’ll be out until past dinner, but Misha will fetch you when it’s time to eat.” It’s very short and to the point, but not brusque. Nolan murmurs his assent, lingering nearby as Ivan pulls on his suit jacket and a coat. “Feel free to explore. Misha will bring you anything you need.” 

 

With that, Ivan’s out the door, disappearing into the back of the same sleek car that had picked them up a few nights ago. The house is eerily quiet, now, aside from the distant clink of dishes. Unsure of where to go despite being granted freedom to roam, Nolan carefully makes his way into the nearby living room. It’s formal to the point of being stiff, and he knows he can’t stay there. He finds a library and a proper office before finding what must serve as an informal living room; it has a huge sectional facing a fireplace with a TV mounted over it, shelves of books that look like novels instead of reference materials. 

 

The couch itself is cozy. Nolan folds himself into a corner and drapes one of the nearby afghans over himself. He gets warm enough to fall asleep, and gets shaken awake later by Misha, who’s holding his pill and a glass of water. 

 

“Thank you.” Nolan takes the pill quickly, grateful for the water to clear his throat. Misha just nods and takes the glass back when he’s done. 

 

“Supper is soon,” is all he says, but he gives Nolan’s shoulder a little pat. Nolan suspects he speaks far less English than his employer, and takes the touch as his way of softening the edge of his shortness. 

 

Eating alone feels strange. Nolan watches little birds bounce in the snow through the window as he digs into the stew set out for him. There’s soft cheese and crusty bread that he dunks in it, enjoying the way it warms him up from the inside. 

 

Nolan wanders back upstairs when he’s done. He doesn’t know why it hits him then, as he sits on the bed in the master bedroom, but he’s suddenly crying, curling up on his side and muffling his sounds in the covers. He misses his sisters with a ferocity that tears at his chest; he’s afraid and alone, with no idea where he is. With no idea when Ivan is going to- 

 

Nolan sobs all of this into the bedsheets and then some, feeling the remnants of his illness through the wheeze that makes itself known in his chest again. He’s loath to get up, but he does to blow his nose and grab more tissue to bring back to bed as the tears linger and his nose continues to run. 

 

The click of the door opening sometime later has Nolan curling in on himself. His handler had hated it when he cried, and he doesn’t want to upset Ivan - who has been good to him so far, despite everything. He listens to the muffled sound of Ivan’s footsteps crossing the floor, then feels the bed dip behind him. 

 

“Nolan. I know you’re awake,” Ivan say softly. “Misha says you’ve been up here for hours.” 

 

“Sorry,” Nolan tries, but he already knows it’s not going to be enough. A gentle hand guides him turn him over, and a displeased look flits across Ivan’s face before his expression settles. 

 

“You've been crying. Can I help?” is all he says. Nolan’s oddly grateful that he doesn’t ask what’s wrong; there are too many answers to that question and many of them circle around Ivan having him here in the first place. 

 

“I don’t mean to be trouble.” 

 

With a sigh, Ivan reaches out to cup Nolan’s cheek, thumb sweeping over his flush. “You aren’t. You’ll adjust, with time.” Ivan’s quiet for a moment, still touching Nolan; now and then his thumb catches slightly on the drying tear tracks on his face. “I hope to have you by my side someday, you know.” 

 

And, in a way, Nolan had an idea. Slaves purchased from the company Nolan was specialized in those meant to be companions to people like Ivan - upper class, influential, and - often - non-humans who needed uncomplicated, uncompromised companionship. He’d had those words drilled into his head over and over, along with the lessons on etiquette and subservience. He hadn’t been expecting Ivan to be so . . . kind. It makes him anxious. 

 

“Is there anything that would help?” Ivan asks again. His hand is resting on Nolan’s shoulder now, and Nolan hopes he can’t feel the way his heart is pounding.

 

“Rules,” Nolan blurts out of sheer nerves, and he immediately wishes he could take it back, hoping he hasn’t got himself in too deep. “I-I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. What I’m not supposed to. They - they said you would tell me.” 

 

“I see,” Ivan murmurs. He looks pensive, giving a little sigh and running a hand over his face. “For now, you can do as you like, with exceptions. Do not leave the grounds without me or my permission. Do not interrupt any meetings I have unless I tell you to come with me. The rest … They gave you the standard training on behavior and etiquette?” Ivan nods as Nolan mumbles an affirmative. “As things between us . . . develop, we’ll figure out more.” 

 

“T-thank you.” 

 

“Of course.” Ivan gives his shoulder a pat and stands, shedding his coat and starting to undo his tie. Nolan feels his face heat and his heart start to beat fast when he strips out of his shirt and pants as well. Thankfully, Ivan leaves his boxers on, instead pulling out a soft pair of sweats and a worn shirt. He looks . . . less severe, this way, outside of his crisp suits. Something must show on Nolan’s face because Ivan shoots him a curious glance. 

 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.” To Nolan’s surprise, Ivan looks a bit discomfited by that. 

 

“Ah, well. You’re a virgin. It makes sense you’d be curious.” 

 

Nolan’s cheeks flame and he ducks his head. He knew his father had mentioned it to the agency, knew that’s what the white ribbon he’d been adorned with meant, but he didn’t think Ivan had paid attention to that detail. Ducking his head, he hears Ivan let out another soft sigh. 

 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” 

 

That’s not really true, and his feelings must show on his face, because Ivan frowns back at him when he looks up. “Aren’t you?”

 

“No.” Ivan’s voice is sharp enough that Nolan flinches. “Your well-being and - pleasure, are important to me. Obviously."

 

With that, Ivan strides to the bathroom, the door shutting behind him with some force. Anxiety claws at Nolan's throat, but he lays back down and curls up under the blankets. He doesn't quite hold his breath when Ivan emerges from the bathroom, but it's close. Ivan just climbs in bed, flicking the light off and settles under the blankets. It takes a long time for Nolan to relax and manage to sleep. 

 

Ivan’s still in bed when Nolan wakes. He doesn’t say anything when Nolan slips out to use the bathroom, buying himself a little time to brush his morning breath away. It’s early, so he crawls back into the bed for lack of elsewhere to go, still not feeling brave enough to wander when Ivan is home. He goes tense when Ivan spoons up behind him, wrapping an arm around his middle. 

 

“Sorry. But you’re going to have to get used to me touching you,” Ivan murmurs, warm breath ghosting against Nolan’s neck. “Just relax. I’m not going to do anything else.” 

 

It’s not easy to relax, though. Nolan’s not used to anyone touching him beyond hugs and the few inexperienced kisses he’d traded with a boy from his middle school. He closes his eyes, trying to find Ivan’s body heat soothing. It kind of works, and it helps that Ivan truly doesn’t move. He’s dozing, pressed against Nolan’s back and holding him loosely. 

 

A knock on the door startles them both, Ivan making a displeased sound against Nolan’s back before sitting up and calling out for the person to come in. Misha pokes his head in long enough to inform them that breakfast is ready, carefully shutting the door behind him with a soft click. 

 

Nolan’s surprised when Ivan flops back down on the bed. “Breakfast,” he half-mumbles, almost sounding put out before sighing. It’s a moment or two more before he scrubs a hand over his face and rolls out of bed. “You can rest more, if you like. I know you didn’t sleep well.” 

 

Some part of Nolan wants to take him up on the offer, sleep still tugging at his mind. His stomach growls, though, and he, too, climbs out of bed. They take turns in the bathroom, brushing their teeth. Ivan doesn’t bother to change, so Nolan doesn’t either. It must be Ivan’s day off, or the weekend, Nolan figures. He hasn’t had much sense of time since he arrived at the tradehouse, all of the days blending together because they were all structured the same. 

 

Again, there’s a too-large spread on the table; Ivan’s already plated up his own food and doesn’t pay Nolan any mind as he settles in. He sighs audibly when the cell phone next to his drink rings, and Ivan’s markedly short when he answers it. Nolan tries not to pay attention to the conversation, studiously eating is food, but it’s hard not to overhear when Ivan’s a mere tablewidth away. 

 

“Work?” Nolan asks cautiously when Ivan hangs up. 

 

“Unfortunately.” 

 

“Can I ask what you do?” 

 

Ivan looks a little surprised, taking a sip of his coffee before answering. “I’m a . . . diplomat, of sorts. I represent non-humans on different panels and boards, as well as advise on legislation.” 

 

“Oh.” That explains the house, Nolan supposes, and Ivan’s schedule. 

 

“It’s not exciting, but it’s important to me.” Ivan shrugs, then quickly changes the topic. “I’d like us to spend time together today.” 

 

Nolan can feel himself blanch, but he manages an, “Okay.” He finds he’s lost most of his appetite by then, forcing himself to finish the food on his plate so as not to be wasteful. The same maid from before bustles in and begins to clean up as Ivan stands, leading Nolan through the house. They wind up in the same living room Nolan had found the day before. The afghan he had used has been re-folded neatly, draped over the corner of the couch he’d curled up in. 

 

“I know you’re scared, but I’d like it if you sat with me. I promise I’m not going to do anything to you.” The  _ yet _ , is there, but Nolan ignores it in favor of obeying. He sits next to Ivan awkwardly as Ivan turns on the TV, settling on a documentary before coaxing Nolan to lean into his side. 

 

The soft British voice on the television is soothing, and Nolan focuses on it instead of the arm around his shoulder or the body pressed against his. Ivan is quiet and still, which helps. Nolan’s nearly relaxed when Ivan speaks again. 

 

“This isn’t so bad, is it?” 

 

Suddenly, Nolan wants badly to pull away, but he doesn’t. He can’t quite dredge up a response before Ivan sighs in obvious disappointment. “I’m sorry. I wish I could make this easier.” 

 

_ You could’ve not bought me, _ Nolan thinks, but that’s not really fair. He would’ve wound up somewhere else - with that terrifying man who, now that Nolan considers it, very well could have been non-human too. He could’ve been beaten or starved or raped already. His handler had made sure to impress upon him all the possibilities, berating him with them when Nolan cried, and then berating him more when he couldn’t hold in the tears. He swallows back the lump in his throat, closing his eyes to make sure he doesn’t tear up at the memories. 

 

“It’s not so bad.” 

 

He can feel Ivan let out another sigh, but he strokes Nolan’s arm gently. Nolan can’t quite get back to the relaxed state of before, even though Ivan doesn’t ask him any more questions. Misha comes to fetch them for lunch with Nolan’s medicine in hand. He trades a few brief sentences in Russian with Ivan before giving Nolan a pat and disappearing again. 

 

Lunch is light and fresh. Ivan watches him eat, which makes Nolan nervous, but he still eats his fill; he’d never turn down fresh fruit, and even feels a little badly about leaving the rest behind although he knows it’ll be packed up for later. 

 

“We could go outside for a short while, if you’re feeling up to it. It’s nicer today than it has been.” 

 

Nolan’s startled by the offer, but when he glances outside, he realizes the snow has from before has melted. The sunlight could obviously be misleading, but going outside could be nice. He nods, and Ivan has Misha bring them coats and shoes for Nolan that he doesn’t recognize. They’re a little big and that’s what makes him realize they’re Ivan’s. He slips them on and follows Ivan outside. 

 

The patio that he could see from the kitchen table is in full sun at this time of day, and even though the air is somewhat cool, the sun itself is warm and bright. They make their way out into the yard, through the landscaped garden and around a dormant fountain. Little birds similar to the ones that Nolan had watched startle from the bushes, flying up and away in alarm.

 

The path splits, one part extending out into the courtyard, the other wending around the house toward the front gate. Nolan’s not sure what comes over him, but he’s running before he knows it, heart thudding when he hears Ivan call his name in alarm from behind him. The pavement is hard under his feet, too-big shoes sliding as he runs. Of course, the front gate is closed and hopelessly tall once Nolan reaches it. There’s no way for him to climb over before Ivan reaches him, gripping his arm roughly and spinning him around. He’s actually angry, for once, and Nolan braces himself for a strike that doesn’t come. Instead, Ivan shakes him once. 

 

“What are you  _ doing _ ?”

 

A sob tears its way up Nolan’s throat before he can stop it, instinctual fear at the aggression making him cry. He’s aware of Ivan swearing, then he’s being led by the arm back up to the house. He doesn’t fight; there’s no point when he can’t get away. Misha’s there by the door when they get in, looking concerned as he tries to take their coats. Ivan tries to wave him off, intently dragging Nolan toward the staircase when suddenly there’s a tense torrent of Russian filling the room. 

 

Nolan manages to look up, desperately trying to blink back tears that fall down his cheeks anyway. Misha’s arguing with Ivan, and he definitely points at Nolan more than once. Doing his best to be quiet, Nolan tries to wipe his face but the tears just keep coming. He’s never been good at getting himself to stop crying once he’s upset, and he hates that now more than ever. 

 

Ivan eventually curses again, pushing Nolan Misha’s direction and leaving the house. The door slams behind him and that somehow breaks Nolan’s ability to stay quiet. Misha mumbles soothingly at him, nothing Nolan can understand, but he still follows when Misha coaxes him out of his coat and shoes and guides him to the living room. There, he tucks Nolan in under the same afghan that he’d used before and then sits down next to him, far enough apart that they’re not touching. Misha nabs a box of tissues from the coffee table and offers them to Nolan, who takes them gratefully. He blows his nose and dabs at his eyes and cheeks, feeling stupid and embarrassed and scared. Either Ivan is going to come back and take what he’s wanted from Nolan all along, or he’s going to sell him on and find himself a less troublesome companion, he’s sure and that makes him sob more. 

 

“Don’t cry,” Misha finally says softly, patting Nolan’s shoulder. “He come back less hungry, less angry.” 

 

Nolan looks up at that, Misha’s worried eyes meeting his. “Less...hungry?” And suddenly it clicks. Ivan’s sudden pushiness and handsiness are because he’s hungry - not for human food, but for the sexual energy an incubus needs. “Oh.” 

 

Misha nods at that, seeing that Nolan understands. “Rest,” he says, giving Nolan one last pat before getting up. 

 

Sinking back into the cushions, Nolan tries to take Misha’s advice. It takes a long while for him to finally stop sniffling, and he finds it hard to stay put even though he feels like he should. He’s not sure why Misha put him here instead of their room, but it seemed purposeful. 

 

Nolan’s managed to doze off when he hears the front door close. Immediately, he’s alert, torn between taking advantage of the way the touch hides his presence in the room and peeking up to see what’s coming. Of course, it’s not long before Ivan rounds the corner, Misha shortly behind. Misha stays in the doorway, though, watching as Ivan slowly pads toward Nolan. 

 

“Did I hurt you?” Ivan asks carefully. Nolan shakes his head, not ready to speak. “I’m sorry. I’m so - that was unacceptable.” 

 

“I’m sorry I ran,” Nolan rasps, hating himself for the tears prickling at this eyes again. 

 

“Don’t be. I should’ve - of course you’d run, if you had the chance. I can’t be mad at you for that.” Ivan takes a seat on the couch as far from Nolan as he can manage. “I’m sorry for pushing you. Misha pointed out that I was hungry. I should’ve known better than to wait so long.” 

 

“Did you . . . eat?” 

 

Ivan drops his gaze but nods. “Yes. I should be fine for a while, now.” 

 

Now that he’s looking, Nolan can see a faint hickey on Ivan’s neck. It makes him wonder, but he’s too afraid to ask now about the other person and what happened to them. 

 

“I’ll leave you alone. Maybe we can . . . start over.” Ivan gets up, then, leaving Nolan to his thoughts. 

 

True to his word, Ivan gives Nolan space. They still share a room and bed, but Ivan refrains from touching him. He’s as busy as ever, it seems, and Nolan’s left to his own devices most of the time. Misha shows him the library and Ivan grants him blanket permission to it and any of the televisions in the house. He’s banned from the grounds for now, but Nolan can’t protest that. 

 

It’s a shock, then, when Ivan speaks at dinner one night. “There’s going to be a small party here in a couple of weeks. I’d like to you join me, if you would.” 

 

Carefully chewing the bite in his mouth, swallowing hard. “I - I don’t have anything to wear.” 

 

“I’ll bring in a tailor to fit you for a suit.” 

 

“Okay,” Nolan says softly. He knew this would be part of it; he just hopes that he can keep his composure. 

 

The tailor comes in the next day, hardly paying Nolan any attention as he flits around, measuring and pinning and telling Nolan to move this way or that until he’s satisfied. Ivan watches silently, only conferring with the tailor about colors and styles. Nolan gets the feeling that more than one suit is actually being ordered, but it’s Ivan’s money to spend. 

 

There’s a bit more hustle to the house over the time between the tailor arriving and the party. Nolan’s suits - five of them in different colors - arrive just a couple days before, and Ivan tells him which one he’d like him to wear. He looks impressed the night of the party when Nolan manages to tie his own tie, even if it takes a couple of tries. Ivan straightens Nolan’s lapels and smooths them down. 

 

“We should go,” he murmurs, stepping back and leading Nolan downstairs. He takes Nolan’s arm as they move toward the door, just in time to hear the clatter of the gate opening. Misha opens the door allowing Ivan to step forward to greet his guests. There are about 20 or so, mostly couples with a few singles sprinkled in. A few of them greet Nolan as well, shaking his hand; the rest ignore him entirely, obviously aware of his status in the house. 

 

They gather in a small ballroom where Misha and the other staff had set up tables and are already moving among the crowd to offer drinks and hors d’oeuvres. With his arm through Ivan’s, Nolan’s moved about the room, visiting this group of people or that. Nolan doesn’t quite follow the topics of conversation, but he does his best to maintain an unobtrusive air of polite attentiveness. Ivan passes him a glass of champagne that he holds but doesn’t drink; eventually, Misha swings by to swap it out for a glass of sparkling water. 

 

As the evening wears on, Nolan starts to notice a pattern develop. Ivan will lean close to speak to someone, up in their personal space, gently touching their arms or hands. He’s  _ flirting _ , Nolan realizes and then it hits him that - as far as he knows - it’s been a while since Ivan last fed. A few people entertain his advances; others nudge him playfully away. Nobody seems offended or scared and Nolan has to wonder how many of them know what Ivan is. 

 

Nolan’s weary by the time the last of the guests leave; Ivan seems pleased and he even begins to tidy up before two of the staff shoo him away. Trailing him up the stairs, Nolan debates with himself about whether it would be better to give in now or hope that Ivan takes the same option as last time and finds someone else. He’s not sure it’s worth the risk, because even as they change, Ivan’s eyes are on him any time he thinks Nolan isn’t looking back. He can choose when or wait for the choice to be made for him; either way, it’s going to happen, he knows. 

 

Heart pounding, Nolan waits until they’re in bed to roll to face Ivan, desperately trying to hold on to his conviction to do this now. “You’re hungry,” he nearly whispers, freezing when Ivan’s eyes flicker in the half-light. Nolan feels pinned, even as Ivan reaches out to touch him, skimming a hand up his arm. Then, there’s a sigh and those creature-eyes look away. 

 

“You’re not ready.” Ivan starts to pull back, but Nolan grabs his wrist before he can turn over. 

“I-Let me help.” 

 

“Nolan.” The word is almost inaudible, and Nolan gets the sense that Ivan is working hard to keep his composure. Nolan lets go as Ivan reaches for him again, brushing his cheek with warm, gentle fingers. “You’ve never . . . if I took you now, I would hurt you. I wouldn’t have the patience to be gentle with someone who hasn’t been fucked before. Don’t offer me what you’re not ready for.” 

 

“Is-isn’t there something else we could that’s not - that?” Nolan hates the waver in his voice, but he manages to push the words out anyway. 

 

Ivan's quiet for a long time. The room is tense and Nolan stays quiet, unsure of what could happen if he were to break the silence. 

 

"You could touch yourself. If you can come, I could feed then. It would help."

 

Nolan's grateful for the dark as he flushes brightly. He'd rarely touched himself, not having the privacy to do so most of the time. The last time he'd been forced to by his handler, to make sure he was … functional. 

 

"I can try," he whispers hoarsely. 

 

"I'll need to be touching you. Can you handle that?" 

 

"Y-yeah." 

Shakily, Nolan slides a hand into his pajama bottoms. He has to close his eyes so he can't see Ivan in front of him as he tries to relax. All Nolan has is half-formed fantasies of mouths on his skin and hands touching his hips, his cock. They're enough to get him a little hard, so he keeps touching. He thinks about Nico and Miro close on either side of him, how warm and solid their bodies were pressed against him as they slept. Nolan remembers the kisses Nico stole, when no one was there to tell but Miro. They were nice, soft. Nolan's always wondered what more would be like. 

 

It’s harder from there. He’s not sure what sex would really be like, if it would hurt as much as his handler said or if it could be nice, the way the boys back home would talk about. Still, if he focuses on his hand and the curling pleasure, he can almost get there. It’s distracting when Ivan touches his hip, hand resting lightly there. Nolan’s orgasm isn’t great, barely even a relief and then suddenly he feels exhausted. There’s a faint pull where Ivan is touching him until he moves his hand away. 

 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, crawling out of the bed. “Stay there. I’ll clean you up.” 

 

Nolan manages to tug his sleep pants back up before Ivan gets back with a wet cloth. He blushes as Ivan gently cleans his hand and belly, but the tiredness drags him under as soon as the blankets are tucked back around him. 

 

The next morning, Nolan wakes much later than normal. He can hear the shower running, and the sunlight is bright shining through the window. Sure enough, when he checks the clock, it is much closer to lunch time than breakfast. Ivan greets him cautiously when he emerges from the bathroom, checking Nolan over. 

 

“You’re alright?” he asks, looking concerned even as Nolan nods. “We should eat. You’ll feel better faster that way.” 

 

“Are you feeling better?” Nolan finds the courage to ask over breakfast. His heart sinks a little as Ivan sips his coffee slowly, as though he’s weighing his words. 

 

“It helped, thank you.” 

 

“But you’re still hungry.” It’s a relief that his voice doesn’t shake, but Nolan’s hopes of it being that easy are dashed. 

 

“Yes. I’m sorry.” Ivan’s watching him carefully, and Nolan does his best to seem calm. “I have a friend who will be in town later this week. I’ll see if they’re available.” 

 

Still, Ivan’s hunger shows. He’s more tactile with Nolan, although he lacks the urgency from last time. Nolan debates offering to feed him again because it gets worse as the week wears on. It’s a relief when Friday arrives and Ivan goes to work; Nolan’s learning to cherish his alone time, the unobtrusive presence of Misha and the other staff familiar, now. He has a small stack of books he’s risked leaving on the coffee table near his favorite corner of the couch, and most of his days are spent there reading. He’s there when Ivan gets home, and the tension that follows him sets Nolan on edge. 

 

“I won’t be home for the night. Plans have changed,” he tells Nolan curtly, turning on his heel and practically striding from the room. Nolan draws himself up and follows, exchanging a worried glance with Misha at the foot of the stairs. 

 

Ivan is changing when Nolan makes it to their room. He’s abandoned his suit and tie for tight, dark-wash jeans and a black tee shirt, all but ignoring Nolan as he goes to the ensuite to fix his hair. 

 

“What’s wrong?” Nolan asks, standing well away from the doorway. He still flinches when Ivan turns to look at him, eyes dark and the silver around his iris flashing. 

 

“I need to feed. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

 

“I-I could help?” Immediately, Nolan regrets even suggesting it. Ivan rounds on him, posture tense. 

 

“It’s not  _ enough _ ,” he bites out. Nolan feels frozen, pinned in place by fear even as Ivan stalks toward him. He whimpers and struggles despite himself when Ivan grabs him by the waist, hauling him close and tugging his head back by his hair. There’s a kiss and then a bite at his throat, hard enough to make him yelp. “You smell so sweet and fresh I just -” Ivan bites him again, and this time Nolan instinctively shoves him as hard as he can. It feels as though time slows as Ivan stumbles back, and - for a moment - Nolan’s sure he’s finally crossed a line. 

 

“Fuck.” Ivan basically runs from the room, leaving Nolan trembling. He stays there until the front door slams and he can hear the distant crunch of car tires on gravel. Then Misha is approaching him like he’s a frightened animal, coaxing him to sit. 

 

It’s almost like a dam breaking, and Nolan is babbling apologies in between gasping breaths and clutching at Misha’s arms. He hears Misha trying to calm him, but Nolan can’t process, curling in on himself when Misha moves away. He comes back with a glass of water and a cold pack, steadying Nolan’s hands as he helps him sip at the water until his breaths are coming deeper and more even. Gently, he presses the pack to Nolan’s neck, making him gasp softly. The ache dulls quickly, though, and eventually Nolan’s able to hold the pack himself. 

 

“Let me see.” Misha eases Nolan’s hands away, carefully tipping his chin to get a look at the marks. “No blood,” is all he says, putting the pack back into place. 

 

Nolan can see the damage for himself when he finally gets himself together enough to move to the bathroom. He splashes cold water on his face, trying to lessen the redness of his eyes and wash away the tracks from tears he doesn’t remember crying. There are two distinct bite marks on his neck, vivid and dark. He can pick out the individual teeth and they ache fiercely without the cold to numb them. 

 

“Is he going to hurt them?” Nolan asks softly. He turns to look at Misha who is hovering in the doorway. “Because I - what will happen?” 

 

“No. Most people . . . want. Or he can make them think they do.” 

 

“Why doesn’t he just make me?” He has to wonder if it wouldn’t be easier, but Misha’s shaking his head. 

 

“It’s not good,” is all he says, and there’s something in his tone that keeps Nolan from pressing him for more. 

 

Misha brings him a tube of arnica gel, helping Nolan to smooth it onto the bite marks before he goes to bed. He looks as though he wants to say more, but instead he just pats Nolan on the shoulder and bids him goodnight. Nolan’s not sure when Ivan gets home; he sleeps surprisingly soundly despite his anxiety, worn out in the aftermath of adrenaline. Ivan’s there when he wakes in the morning, back to Nolan where he’s curled under the blankets. Quietly, Nolan slips out of bed to go through his morning routine. He tries to brace himself for the possibility of facing Ivan, but he still freezes in place when he sees him sitting up in bed. 

 

“Nolan,” he murmurs, obviously trying not to spook him, “I’m so sorry.” 

 

It takes everything in Nolan not to back away when Ivan climbs out of bed and approaches him. He still flinches when Ivan reaches for him, closing his eyes as careful fingers guide his chin up to bare his neck. 

 

“I hurt you.” Ivan doesn’t touch the bite marks, but he rests cool fingers at the base of Nolan’s throat. 

 

“You did.” Ivan jerks away as if burned. Nolan can feel his heart hammering and tears welling in his eyes. “You said you wouldn’t.” 

 

“I’m sorry. It’s not enough, but I am. I -” 

 

“I believed you,” Nolan’s crying, now. He didn’t realize how much he’d hung onto Ivan’s promise, deep down; sure, he’d scared Nolan last time, but he hadn’t  _ hurt _ him. Even now, the bruises ache. He feels stupid for even vaguely hoping that Ivan would keep his word when he has no real reason to. There’s no one to stop him from doing whatever he wants to Nolan, not really. Not even Misha. 

 

“Nolan…” Ivan doesn’t try to say more. Nolan doesn’t know what he  _ could _ say, if anything. If he even wants to. 

 

The quiet is shattered by Ivan’s cell phone ringing. It’s his work ringtone, one that Nolan’s familiar with. He feels relieved to have Ivan’s attention off him while he slips back into the bathroom to try and gather himself. Nolan splashes cold water on his face, blows his nose, and washes his hands. His eyes are still red-rimmed and there’s a faint hitch in his breathing but he doesn’t have enough time to wait for those things to go away. 

 

Nolan doesn’t quite flee the room, but it’s close. There’s breakfast waiting for them, like always, and Misha gives him a concerned look before going about his work. Ivan stops in long enough to fill a travel cup with coffee and grab a slice of toast before he’s out the door. As much as he hates it, Nolan finds himself tearful throughout the day, finally going to bed early out of sheer emotional exhaustion. 

 

He wakes some time later, opening his eyes to find Ivan changing out of his suit. Ivan pauses when their eyes meet before continuing to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Nolan feels hollow, resigned, and when Ivan’s settling into bed, he asks the question he’d asked of Misha the night before. 

 

“Why don’t you just take what you want? You’re an incubus. You could make me want it.” 

 

“I didn’t want to force you,” Ivan says quietly. 

 

“I don’t get a choice anyway.” It’s the truth. Nolan had it on his mind all day; as nice as Ivan is trying to be, in the end, there’s only one reason he’s here: to be a food source. For sex. 

 

Ivan is quiet for a long time before he speaks again. “You’re right. I know that. I just . . . didn’t want to face it, I guess. Would it be easier for you if I did?” 

 

“Maybe.” He can’t know for sure. He thinks not having the anxiety and fear would help; waiting for that shoe to drop has been horrible, and Ivan’s escalating behavior has only made it worse. On the other hand, he’d remember what happened during, and he’s not sure how he’d feel after when Ivan’s spell was broken. 

 

“You should sleep,” is all Ivan says in the end. 

 

Sleep doesn’t come easy, but Nolan drifts off eventually. He wakes in a haze, warm and buzzing. It takes him a moment to realize Ivan is touching him, one hand skimming down his side. Once he sees that Nolan’s awake, Ivan leans in to kiss him and the touch is like burning. Nolan wants  _ more _ , pawing at Ivan and trying to get closer. He pants up at the ceiling as Ivan rolls him onto his back and kisses his throat, rucking his shirt up to kiss his chest and belly. Skilled hands tug his sleep pants down, and he moans aloud as Ivan touches his cock. It’s better than he’d imagined, but he can’t hang onto those thoughts right now. Not when Ivan is taking him in his mouth, sucking lightly. Nolan fists his hands in the sheets as he rocks helplessly up into wet heat, moans and breathy cries falling from his lips. 

 

Ivan doesn’t let up, not even when Nolan starts to come. He shakes, back arching as he twitches through it. Ivan swallows his come and laps gently at his dick long enough to drive Nolan to the point of overstimulation. He whimpers weakly, and that earns him a reprieve. Gently, Ivan tucks his cock away and slides back up next to him on the bed. For a moment, Nolan curls into Ivan’s arms, dizzy and hot and needing despite his orgasm. In the next, he feels like cold water has been dumped over his head. 

 

“You-” he chokes, but there’s nothing to say. Ivan just keeps rubbing his back, not making a sound. Shame curls in Nolan’s stomach, along with a heaping sense of defilement. He’d  _ liked _ that. He came in Ivan’s mouth in a matter of minutes, every bit the inexperienced virgin he is. And Ivan had made him like it. 

“We should get you breakfast,” Ivan murmurs. “You’ll need the energy.” 

 

Numbly, Nolan follows him downstairs and eats. It doesn’t seem like Ivan is in a hurry to leave today, and it hits Nolan hard then that today is Saturday. Ivan  _ won’t _ be leaving, unless he has a social event and he hasn’t mentioned one this week. They go outside for once and Nolan can’t help but feel like it’s some kind of reward. The weather has been warmer lately, the sun shining hot despite the coolness seeping upward from the damp grass and pavestones. Ivan leads him on a walk through the gardens even though they’re still dormant for the winter. Nolan has to admit to himself that the fresh air feels nice; it distracts him a little from his situation, but all that goes out the window when Ivan stops near a small fountain and tugs Nolan close.

 

He’s gentle, this time, as he presses a kiss to Nolan’s throat, avoiding the bruises. “I’m sorry about this,” Ivan murmurs. “I never wanted to hurt you. I hate that I did. I made you more afraid of me.” 

 

There’s nothing Nolan can say. It’s the truth, though he’s a little surprised to hear it coming from Ivan. He lets Ivan nuzzle him, submitting to a soft kiss. 

 

“Are you okay?” 

 

Nolan nods, not quite able to meet Ivan’s eyes. They go back in after a while, and Ivan leaves him to his own devices. It should be a relief that Ivan doesn’t want to feed again that night, or even the next. But a week and then two go by and Nolan gets more and more nervous. He’s afraid of Ivan pushing his hunger to the point of losing control again, but he doesn’t think it’s his place to say anything. 

 

It’s a Friday when Ivan informs him they’ll have company tomorrow. A vampire friend of his is coming to visit and will be there for the weekend. Nolan murmurs an assent and makes sure to shower and put on a pair of the nice jeans and a tee shirt that Ivan had bought for him. 

 

“Hey man,” the vampire greets, dragging an awkwardly stiff Ivan into a hug. He looks to be around their age, but Nolan’s certain he’s much older. “This must be Nolan.” 

 

“Hello,” Nolan offers softly, shaking Travis’ hand even though he’s trembling slightly. 

 

They have lunch together out on the back patio. Winter had been begrudgingly giving away to spring more and more, and the grass around the pavement was turning green. Travis and Ivan talk about other friends, about work, and Nolan kept his head down. Unlike Ivan, Travis is animated and chatty, gesturing with his hands as he tells some story about a hunting trip - for deer, he’d assured Nolan with a wry smile - up in Canada. 

 

The three of them take a tour of the grounds, which starts up a debate about landscaping. Travis declares he’s going to send Ivan a set of bee houses to be put up as well as the name of the nursery he gets his plants from. Ivan takes this all with a resigned sigh, and Nolan’s not sure if he’s just humoring Travis or if Ivan will really start adding more native plants to the gardens. Their day is spent like that; in leisure, wandering about the house before finally settling in the informal living room. Misha brings wine that they share; Nolan’s grateful for it when Travis turns his attention to him, asking questions about Nolan and where he’s from. He glances at Ivan, who just nods, giving him the go-ahead to answer. 

 

“He’s sweet,” Travis remarks to Ivan at some point. Nolan’s face goes hot and he ducks his head. 

 

“He is.”

 

Nolan feels his heart drop at Travis next words. “Are you sure about this?” 

 

Looking between them, Nolan feels his heart clench when Ivan’s face turns pained. He looks sorry and Nolan doesn’t want to know why. 

 

“I am.” 

 

Travis leans over, then, gently taking Nolan’s glass from him and setting it on the coffee table. He holds one of Nolan’s hands lightly and brushes his thumb over his knuckles. 

 

“How would you feel about coming home with me?” Travis asks, voice soft and careful. 

 

The question feels like being hit over the head. Panicked, Nolan looks to Ivan, who just looks sad. “Ivan?” he asks, choking on the word as tears well up and his throat goes tight. 

 

“I’m sorry, Nolan. But you’re unhappy here. You’re scared and - I’m not good for you. Travis will be good to you, better than I can be.” 

 

There’s nothing Nolan can really say. Travis asks him again if he wants to come with him, and Nolan nods numbly. They stay for a while longer, but then Travis is guiding him out to a waiting car with one hand on his lower back. Misha meets them with a suitcase and Nolan’s duffle. Briefly, Nolan clings to him, surprising everyone but no one stops him. 

 

“Will be okay,” Misha tries to reassure him, but Nolan can’t find any words. He’s crying quietly as Travis eases him into the car, the chauffeur packing his bags into the trunk. Nolan doesn’t watch the house or Ivan disappear in the distance; that hurts too much. Travis takes pity on him and lets him curl up to sob his sorrows into the leather of the seats. He doesn’t touch Nolan or chastise him, only offering the odd soothing word that doesn’t do much good. Nolan feels like a failure, unwanted and bartered away for - what, he doesn’t even know. 


	2. Travis

“Nolan,” Travis says in that same gentle voice from before. “I’m sorry, but we’re here. Can you sit up for me?” 

 

Wiping at his eyes, Nolan does. He keeps his head down, and he takes the hand offered him as they get out of the car. They’re in the country, to Nolan’s surprise. Instead of gates and walls and the distant sound of cars and people, there’s nothing around but trees and the large house in front of them. There’s the faint barking of dogs, but other than that, the area is quiet. 

 

Travis picks up Nolan’s bags and leads the way to the house. Despite being of approximate size, the inside is less formal than Ivan’s had been. There are a few deer and antler on the walls, warm wood floors and bright paint that gives everything a different feel than the wallpaper and plush carpet. 

 

“Your room is this way.” Travis shows him up the stairs and to a room near the end of the hall. It’s as bright as the rest of the house, and there’s a door to what must be a bathroom as well as a walk-in closet. “I’m down at the end if you need anything. Rest, okay? I know this is hard and scary for you.” He leaves quietly, shutting the door behind him.

 

Nolan still feels hollow, stunned and more than a little hurt. But the bed looks soft, so he leaves his shoes by the door and drops his hoodie on a nearby chair, crawling in and burrowing beneath the covers. He sobs as silently as he can, only the odd hitching breath or whimper breaking free. If he hadn’t been good enough for Ivan, he has no idea how he’s going to be good enough for Travis. What if he gets sold on and on forever or until someone who doesn’t care how he behaves buys him? Or what if Travis decides to put them both out of their misery and drains him dry? There’s no one to care, not really; Misha might, but Misha may never know what happened to him any more than his family does. 

 

Nolan cries until he can’t anymore, eyes burning and chest sore from sobbing. He’s tired, hungry, and needs to use the bathroom but can’t quite find the energy to do anything but lay there. He drifts absently until there’s a knock at the door. 

 

“Nolan? Can I come in?” Travis calls. 

 

“Y-yeah.” His voice is raspy, but Travis must hear him. Nolan can hear the door open, and he peeks out from beneath the blankets. 

 

“I made food if - oh. Hey,” Travis’ tone shifts from bubbly to soothing once he catches sight of Nolan’s face. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re tired, but I thought you might be hungry. Come down whenever you feel like it.” 

 

“Are you gonna bite me?” Travis looks surprised at that, but Nolan needs to know. 

 

“No. I didn’t bring you here to be a feeder.” 

 

“Then why did you buy me?” 

 

“I didn’t buy you,” Travis says slowly. “Ivan wanted a better home for you. He didn’t feel like he was treating you well, so he asked if I would take you.” 

 

“He gave me away?” Somehow, that almost feels worse. Ivan hadn’t even gotten anything back for him. 

 

“I know your relationship was … not great. And I know you don’t have any reason to believe me, but Ivan hated what he did to you. You’re not here to be food or for sex or - anything like that. I want this to be your home, as much as it is mine.” 

 

“But why?” Nolan asks, voice small. Travis is right, Nolan can hardly believe what he’s saying. 

 

“Because I’ve been around a long time, and I got tired of watching suffering. So I do what I can.” Travis sounds tired, now, so Nolan lets it go. He nods and climbs awkwardly out of bed. 

 

Travis shows him to the kitchen but leaves him to eat. It’s not the big spreads that Ivan always had at his place, but the steak and vegetables are good, more than enough. There don’t seem to be any staff around, so Nolan cleans up, stacking the dishes neatly in the drain and rummaging through the cupboards until he finds tupperware for the leftovers. 

 

“You didn’t have to do that.” Travis’ voice startles him, and Nolan whips around to face him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Thank you for cleaning up.” 

 

With a nod, Nolan slips out. He makes his way back upstairs, not sure where he’s allowed in the house. Longingly, he thinks of the books and comfortable couch at Ivan’s and hopes that Travis has a library, too. Nolan unpacks his belongings to pass a bit of the time. He’s surprised that the nice clothes Ivan had bought him are in there, along with his new shoes. His old clothes are still in his duffel, and he goes through it briefly to make sure his other belongings are in there, too. The empty closet looks almost more empty with his scant clothing put away, duffel tucked safely in one of the overhead cubbies. 

 

The bathroom is as big as expected, with a large showerhead and tub. There are fluffy towels and an assortment of soaps and bath bombs on the shelves built into the walls. Nolan risks drawing himself a bath, listening for any knock on the bedroom or bathroom door, but one never comes. He drops in a bath bomb, watching it fizz and bob in the water as he strips. He’d run the water hot, and it feels good to sink in. 

 

He gets out when the water cools and debates going downstairs. Instead, he crawls back into bed and curls up. The knock he waits anxiously for never comes, and before Nolan knows it, it’s morning. 

 

Travis is cooking breakfast when Nolan ventures out of his bedroom, and he gets a bright smile when he takes a seat at the table. 

 

“This’ll be ready in just a minute,” Travis tells him, stirring eggs and flipping bacon. He’s already set out dishes, silverware, and juice. Nolan pours himself a glass, feeling safe enough to take a drink when Travis doesn’t spare him a glance. 

 

“Here we go.” Travis splits the bacon and eggs between them, retrieving a plate of toast from the counter. “Did you sleep okay?” 

 

“Yeah. Thank you.” Nolan’s not used to this much casual conversation; Ivan was quiet and Misha was shy about his English. None of the other staff had ever bothered to talk to him. 

 

“Sure. I’m going out to let the dogs get some exercise if you want to come.” 

 

“I can . . . go outside?” 

 

“Yeah,” Travis hesitates for a moment before pressing forward. “Ivan told me you tried to run, once. I - please don’t do that here. It’s a long way to town and there’s a lot of wild animals out there.” 

 

“Okay,” Nolan whispers. “Is there anything else?” 

 

“I think it’d be better if you don’t go near the kennels without me. Some of the dogs are . . . not the most people-friendly. They might get used to you, but I don’t want to risk you or them for now. Otherwise, you can go anywhere on the property.” 

 

Nolan nods, and they go back to breakfast. Travis waves him off when he tries to clean up. “I got it. If you want to come, you might want to change? It’s a little cooler up here than in town.” 

 

Quickly, Nolan heads upstairs and pulls on a long sleeve shirt and jeans, tugging on warm socks and a pair of sneakers. Travis is wiping down the counter when Nolan makes it back downstairs. He tosses the dishcloth toward the sink as he turns to Nolan with a grin. 

 

“Ready?” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

The back of Travis’ property is big. There’s a barn off to one side, and what Nolan can only assume is the kennel on the other. Fences encircle both, but there’s still a field that runs all the way up to a dense tree line. Nolan can see little bird house-like structures mounted here and there among the flowerbeds and he realizes as they pass by that they’re the bee houses Travis had mentioned to Ivan. 

 

“You have bees?” Nolan surprises himself by asking, but Travis doesn’t seem to mind.

 

“Not like-” he waves his hand vaguely, searching for the word, “honey bees? I don’t have bee hives, but I’d like to eventually. Those are for solitary bees, so they can lay eggs and stuff.” 

 

Nolan digests this as they make their way down to the kennel. He doesn’t know a whole lot about different kinds of bees or anything, but maybe Travis has a book somewhere he can read. His thoughts are interrupted by the sudden ruckus of the dogs barking. They’ve obviously heard or spotted them coming, and Travis laughs as the volume kicks up when he opens the door. There’s about six dogs as far as Nolan can tell; some look to be in kennels spaced apart from the others but he waits by the door instead of stepping inside like Travis. 

 

Quickly, Travis grabs a couple of leashes, cooing at the dogs as he goes. The first dog he lets out is a bouncy pit and he lets the dog lead him toward the door and Nolan. “This is Benny,” he calls. “Do you wanna help me walk them?” 

 

When Nolan nods, Travis brings him the end of Benny’s leash, telling him to hold on tight while he goes to retrieve another dog. This one is a leggy mutt of some kind, bigger than Benny, but somewhat calmer. It still pulls Travis along to the door, giving Nolan a quick sniff before heading further out into the yard. 

 

“Normally, I’d let them run first, but it’s good for them to do leash stuff with other people, too,” Travis explains as they take the dogs on a couple of laps around the fenced in area. Benny’s strong, stopping everywhere to sniff and pee while the other dog - Roscoe - determinedly keeps walking. 

 

When they’ve made a third circuit, Travis finally takes the dogs off the leashes. As expected, Benny bolts, zooming through the grass. Roscoe runs, too, but not quite as erratically. They play a little, gamboling until Travis calls them back. Getting the leash back on Benny is tricky as he wriggles and tries to lick Nolan’s face, but he goes obediently when they lead him back to the kennels. Travis opens up the doors to their runs, leaving them that way as he goes to get another dog. 

 

“We’ve got to take the others one at a time. And the last couple, I’ll probably need you to head back to the house, okay? Ginger and Ace are kind of … tricky.” 

 

Watching Travis slip a muzzle over one of the dogs makes Nolan nervous, but Travis tries to reassure him. “Bonnie just gets anxious, sometimes and she can nip. But we’re working on that, huh baby?” The dog wags her tail, looking up at them as if she knows they’re talking about her. 

 

Nolan makes his way back up toward the house when it’s time for Ginger and Ace to have their turns. From a distance, he can see Travis loping around the fenced area next to them, both dogs staying on their leashes. He thinks about heading inside, but he’d gotten to be outdoors so rarely at Ivan’s that he winds up staying. It’s a little cloudy, cool like Travis had warned him it would be, but it feels nice. Travis stays in the kennel for a while before coming back to the house, and Nolan follows him inside. 

 

“So I uh, need to run into town for some things. Is there anything you need?” 

 

It’s a gentle but clear message that Nolan isn’t going along. He’s not sure if Travis leaving him is more of a surprise than it would’ve been if he’d been allowed to go. He hasn’t been around other people in so long, he’s honestly not sure what he would do. 

 

“No, I’m okay,” is what he settles on. Travis studies him for a moment before nodding, apparently satisfied. 

 

“Alright. Like I said, please don’t try to run. I’d hate if anything happened to you. I’ll be a couple hours at most.” 

 

Nolan’s not sure where Travis’ chauffeur stays, but he rolls up shortly in the same black car from before. Travis jogs out and gets in, and Nolan watches the car disappear around the corner. This is his opportunity to explore, he thinks. There don’t seem to be any other staff around, so he quietly pads from room to room. The living room is huge and comfortable, and Nolan’s quietly pleased at the bookshelves that line the back walls, as well as the big sectional that takes up most of the space. Downstairs has a formal dining room and a guest bathroom, as well as an unused office and a room that looks to be for social gatherings. Upstairs are more bedrooms and another bath. Nolan doesn’t venture into Travis’ room, not wanting to test his luck, but he peeks inside to find it decorated much the same as the other house. 

 

Heading back to his room, Nolan showers, pleased to find shaving supplies in the cabinets so he can get rid of the stubble coming in on his jaw. Worry and hurt settle back in his chest as he looks at the bite marks still vivid and dark on his throat. He touches them, feeling the ache. He wonders if it’ll hurt as much when Travis bites him, if it’ll bruise and scar; Nolan doesn’t know a whole lot about being a feeder for a vampire. It wasn’t talked about except in whispers. 

 

Nolan goes back to the living room to read until Travis gets home. He carefully sets the book on the coffee table, unsure of what to do when Travis comes in. There are bags in his hands, takeout of some kind and he’s grinning when he sees Nolan. 

 

“Ivan said you liked to read. I’m not sure what we have but you’re welcome to any of them. Don’t be shy.’ 

 

“I brought take out,” he goes on, holding up the bags. “I hope Chinese is okay.” 

 

“I um. Yeah.” Truthfully, Nolan doesn’t have a lot of experience with anything but home cooked food. He’s surprised when Travis starts unpacking things right there on the coffee table, but he takes the box he’s handed, unfolding the the top. He must look like a deer in the headlights when Travis hands him a pair of chopsticks because Travis laughs. Nolan can feel his face heat and he ducks his head. 

 

“Sorry,” Travis says quickly, stifling his laughter. “I shouldn’t have assumed you knew how to use them. Let me grab you a fork.” 

 

Before Nolan can protest, Travis is gone, coming back with silverware and a couple of beers. He pops them open and hands Nolan one along with a fork. Nolan sets it on the table, casting about for a coaster without finding one. Travis finds a remote and flips on the TV over the fireplace before digging into his food. Nolan’s turns out to be tender beef in a thick sauce with onion and green pepper. Travis offers him egg rolls and spicy bits of chicken that make Nolan drink more of the beer than he’d normally be able to tolerate. 

 

Nolan’s full and a warm from the beer, settling back into the couch. He hasn’t watched TV since before Ivan had bought him and he finds it hard to follow along with now. Travis drifts off to sleep, and Nolan does his best to put the food away quietly, padding back and forth between the kitchen a few times to get everything moved. Settling back on the couch, Nolan picks his book back up and curls up to read. 

 

“You coulda watched somethin’,” Travis mumbles sleepily a while later. He sits up, rubbing at his face. “And you put the food away. You didn’t have to do that.” 

 

“S-sorry,” Nolan stutters. 

 

“No it’s - that was really nice of you. Thank you.” Travis is quiet for a moment, only speaking again when Nolan doesn’t say anything. “Hey,” he says softly. “Nolan, can you look at me?” 

 

Feeling his chest go tight, Nolan bites his lip before complying. Travis’ expression is gentle and open and he rests a hand on the couch cushion between them - reaching out without touching. 

 

“You’re not in trouble, okay? I appreciate that you wanna help. That’s really nice.” 

 

“Okay.” Nolan gets the feeling that Travis wants him to reach back, but he can’t make himself. Travis doesn’t look disappointed, though. He just pats the cushion lightly and smiles. 

 

It’s . . . disturbingly easy to live at Travis’. Travis cooks for them, lets Nolan help him with the dogs and the chickens that turn out to reside in the barn. Nolan finds little places to sit out on the grounds and around the house where Travis doesn’t bother him, only coming to look for him when it’s time to eat or he needs to tell Nolan he’s leaving. Nolan’s not sure what exactly Travis does; being a vampire, his wealth could be old money and he might not have a job, but he still goes into town on a regular basis. Sometimes he’s gone for a couple of hours, sometimes a day or two. Nolan considers running, just once, but he knows Travis is right about it being dangerous. The woods are dense and dark the minute he steps past the tree line, and Nolan hustles back up to the house, heart racing until he’s sure that Travis isn’t going to find out - or isn’t going to punish him, at least. 

 

Travis shocks him when he comes to find Nolan after lunch one day to ask, “I’m going into town for a bit. Would you like to come?” 

 

Nolan stares for a minute, sure he’s not hearing right. “I - Why?” 

 

“Because you shouldn’t have to stay here alone all the time.” 

 

“Okay.” Nolan’s still a bit stunned even as he heads upstairs to change into clean jeans and a tee shirt. The car is waiting when he makes it back downstairs, and he follows Travis out to it. This time, he takes in the scenery, the forests and fields gradually giving away to the city. They get dropped off at a supermarket, and Nolan feels himself shying away from the bustle of people around him. He tucks himself behind Travis as he grabs a shopping cart and heads into the store. 

 

“Grab anything you want,” Travis twists around to tell him, “I’m not sure what you like.” 

 

Nolan nods just to agree; he doesn’t have near the confidence yet to do something like that. Instead, he follows Travis through the aisles, watching him pluck things from the shelves and occasionally holding open a produce bag while Travis drops his selections in. They’ve nearly made it to check out when Travis stops and turns to look at him. 

 

“You sure you don’t want anything in particular?” 

 

“No, thank you.” Nolan fidgets when Travis looks at him a bit longer. 

 

“Okay. That’s okay, I just want to make sure,” he finally says, giving Nolan a little smile. 

 

They’re picked back up out front, the chauffeur helping them to load the bags in the trunk. It strikes Nolan, not for the first time, that its a little odd for Travis to do his own shopping. He’s fairly certain Ivan had never done his own, not even when he’d bought Nolan new clothes. Still, he doesn’t ask; he figures it’s not his business and Travis is different from most folks, anyway. 

 

Together, they bring the groceries in and Travis gently directs Nolan on where to put things. He fumbles some of the cans as he takes them into the pantry, flinching as he turns to look at Travis. All he finds is a look of concern. 

 

“You alright?” 

 

“Yeah. I’m sorry,” Nolan mumbles, face hot as he picks the cans back up. 

 

“It’s okay. It happens.” Travis is using that soothing voice again, the voice that Nolan has learned he uses on newly rescued dogs and the solitary hen that always tries to peck him. 

 

Dutifully, he finishes putting the cans and jars away where Travis showed him, bringing back the shopping bags for Travis to fold up and stash in one of the big kitchen drawers. He’s left fish and asparagus out on the counter, clearly intended to be supper and Nolan decides to risk sitting at the island to watch him cook. 

 

It occurs to Nolan, as he watches Travis intently stir some kind of creamy sauce, that he’s never mentioned feeding. He’s never acted hungry around Nolan, gotten handsy or attentive the way Ivan had. Nolan’s not sure even needs human food, despite the fact that he cooks or brings home meals three times a day. He’s not going to ask, though, not after what happened with Ivan. 

 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Travis asks quietly, sliding a glass of tea across the island for Nolan. He has his own in hand as he leans against the counter while they wait for the fish to bake. 

 

Nolan stalls, sipping at the cold tea. It’s vaguely sweet and minty on his tongue, and he takes another drink as he realizes how thirsty he actually is. “I -” he bites his lip and shakes his head. It’s too scary, anxiety clawing at his throat as he tries to come up with anything that he can say. Travis looks disappointed, for once, and Nolan can feel fear curl in a ball in his stomach. 

 

“That’s okay. Just . . . know I’m not gonna be mad or hurt you for anything you say, okay? Asking you to tell me what’s on your mind only to get mad about it would be pretty fucked up.” 

 

All Nolan can do is stare because, well. Yeah, he supposes. But that hadn’t been true for him in a long time. For a while, saying anything at all had been enough to get him in trouble. Crying and protesting had brought him harm at the warehouse, and everything he’d said at Ivan’s only gotten him - 

 

“Hey,” Travis is close to him, now, and Nolan flinches away, sending the stool he’s on skidding as he stands and stumbles back. His breaths are coming fast and his chest hurts. “Easy, Nol. I’m not gonna touch you, but you gotta relax, okay? Just take a couple deep breaths for me, alright?” 

 

Nolan tries, eyes fixed on Travis’ concerned face until his vision starts to swim. He clenches them shut and sucks in a strained breath, then two, then three. Travis is counting, trying to coach him to breath in and hold and out and eventually Nolan starts to manage it. There are tears on his cheeks and tea dripping on the floor and Travis is still watching him, worried. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, swiping at his face. He stumbles forward, picking up a towel to mop at the tea with shaky hands. Travis moves back around the counter and pulls out the food, turning the oven off and just watching Nolan as he carefully moves to the sink to wring out the towel. The glass isn’t broken, at least, and it doesn’t smell like Nolan has caused Travis to burn dinner. He rinses out the towel, hoping there won’t be any stains and then waits by the sink. 

 

“Nolan. Are you okay?” 

 

“I’m sorry,” is all he manages, too scared to say anything else. He’d made a scene and a mess and - 

 

“Hey, hey, whatever you’re thinking, you gotta stop. You’re stressing yourself out,” Travis takes a few steps toward him, stopping in his tracks when Nolan flinches. “Nolan, you’re not in trouble. Everything is fine. I’m not mad and we’re okay. It’s okay.” 

 

“O-okay.” Nolan’s not sure he believes it, but Travis isn’t coming closer and he’s not yelling. 

 

“Do you want to lay down for a little while? Or do you want to eat first?” 

 

“Can I lay down?” Nolan asks, small. He feels shaky and still scared, even if Travis is being nice. 

 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll just put your food in the fridge, okay? You can eat it whenever you’re hungry.” 

 

Nolan all but flees, then, heading to his room and locking the door. Travis had said he could, his first couple days here, but Nolan never has until now. It feels safer and that helps a little. He sheds his jeans, crawling between his now-familiar sheets and hiding in the dark beneath his blankets. Burying his face against the bed, Nolan breathes. He’s trembling, still, and he has to keep pulling back from thoughts that will drag him down into another spiral. It feels stupid, but he thinks about the dogs - Roscoe’s soft ears and Benny’s unending energy - and the chickens - the one that will come right up to Nolan and settle against his side but pecks Travis anytime he comes too close. They’re nice, straightforward once he’d started to learn their behaviors and how to read them. They’re not as confusing and unpredictable as people. 

 

Somewhere along the way, Nolan dozes. A knock at the door startles him, making his heart race. 

 

“Nolan? I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.” The doorknob doesn’t rattle, like Nolan half expects. He sits up, unsure of what to do and it’s not long before Travis is calling out again. “Nolan? You don’t have to let me in, just - say something?” There’s an edge of fear in Travis’ voice, and Nolan finds himself clearing his throat. 

 

“I’m okay,” he calls, hoping it was loud enough for Travis to hear. 

 

“Okay. That’s good. Maybe I’ll see you in the morning? I’m heading to bed.” 

 

“Okay. Goodnight.” 

 

“Goodnight, Nolan.” 

 

Of course, taking a nap that long means Nolan is wide awake, now. He changes into pajamas, but sleep won’t come. Missing dinner means he’s hungry and he knows that the leftovers are waiting for him in the fridge. It takes him a while to convince himself to stand up and go to the door. Carefully, he unlocks it, cracking the door and holding his breath to listen, but there are no sounds in the house. Easing the door open, Nolan steps into the hall, taking slow footsteps. The wood doesn’t do much to muffle his steps, but it’s new and solid and doesn’t creak as he makes his way downstairs. 

 

True to his word, Travis had put Nolan’s food in a tupperware dish and Nolan pops the lid quietly, easing it into the microwave and making sure to catch it before the timer hits zero. The fish isn’t as good as it would be if he’d eaten it freshly cooked, but it’s still good. The asparagus is garlicky and Nolan swipes it through the creamy, rich sauce that Travis had made. He waffles about cleaning it, but the sound of water is too loud so he quickly rinses the dish and turns the faucet off. There are still no sounds coming from upstairs, and Nolan makes the same careful trek back upstairs to his room. Easing the door shut, he locks it behind him, breathing a sigh of relief when the tumbler clicks. 

 

Travis is his regular self in the morning. A touch more cautious, maybe, but Nolan is, too. He ends up sleeping in after not being able to sleep right away the night before, and stumbles downstairs. Travis is watching something on his phone, laughing softly as he picks at a bowl of fruit. He’s grinning when he looks up, expression soft and open. 

 

“You’re up. Feeling okay?” 

 

“Yeah. Sorry.” 

 

“Don’t be. You’re scared and anxious and that’s okay. It’s understandable.” 

 

“I disappointed you.” Nolan knows he’s surprised Travis with that; his eyes go wide and he glances away almost guiltily. 

 

“Don’t worry about it. You’ve been through a lot and you’re doing pretty well. I don’t want to push you if you’re not ready to talk about stuff. It’s important you take things at your own pace.” 

 

“Okay.” Nolan has to take Travis at his word; he’s not willing to say more and Travis seems earnest. 

 

They spend time down in the barn today, which leaves plenty of space between them as Travis susses out where the chickens are hiding their eggs. Nolan’s got a spot along the wall he likes to settle in, gingerly making sure there are no eggs hidden in the hay there before sitting down. Immediately, one of the hens comes over and Nolan sinks his fingers into her feathers. She closes her eyes as he rubs her belly, fluffed up contentedly. 

 

“There’s gonna be chicks soon, I think,” Travis calls softly. There’s a divider than runs down the middle of the barn, keeping the laying hens separate from the others. Nolan can see through the fence that a few of the chickens on the other side are sticking to their nests. Travis carefully slips through the gate between the sides and continues his egg search, this time collecting the ones they’ll use for cooking. 

 

“You gonna stay here for a while?” Nolan nods, keeping his head down a bit. “Okay. Open the door for them when you leave? I’ll come down and close it later.” 

 

Travis leaves him there, watching the chickens and listening to the soft hum of the sounds they make. A few come up to inspect or nestle next to him now and again before wandering off. He wishes he’d brought something for them as a treat like Travis does, but he’s not sure what he’s allowed to bring. 

 

Eventually, Nolan’s legs start to go numb, so he stands, fighting through the tingles to go open the door that leads into the fenced yard, laughing quietly at the chickens who immediately scuttle out. Making sure the door is latched securely, he slowly makes his way up to the house. 

 

He thinks about the things Travis said, while they’re watching TV or out grocery shopping. He is afraid and anxious, because he’d been bought by a stranger who’d given him away without warning to another after hurting him. The bruises have faded, but Nolan still finds himself touching his throat when he’s upset, a phantom ache always nagging at him. He doesn’t know what he’s meant to be doing here, besides eating Travis’ food and hanging out with his animals. Of course, Ivan hadn’t given him much to do, either, but he knew what his purpose was meant to be at Ivan’s. He doesn’t know what his purpose is, here, if he even has one, or how permanent this situation is going to be. Part of him still doesn’t believe that Travis doesn’t intend to feed from him. 

 

Nolan plucks up the courage to ask one night while Travis is chopping vegetables. “Can I help?” 

 

Travis looks surprised, but offers Nolan a smile. “With dinner? Can you cook?” 

 

Shaking his head, Nolan glances away. “I mean with. Other things. I can clean?” 

 

“You don’t have to do that,” Travis says gently. 

 

“I…” Nolan swallows, hating that he feels like he might tear up. “I want to? If that’s okay.” 

 

It’s quiet for a moment while Travis studies him. Nolan’s almost certain he’s going to tell him no, but then Travis picks his knife back up. “Of course it’s okay, if you want to.” He looks up long enough to catch Nolan’s nod before turning his attention back to the carrots in front of him. “I can show you where I keep the cleaning stuff. We can take turns doing things, sound good?” 

 

“Y-yeah.” 

 

Travis scoops the carrots into the waiting pot, giving it a stir before he looks up again. “Is there something else, Nolan? It’s okay if there is.” 

 

“Don’t you . . . need to eat?” 

 

With wry grin, Travis sets into cubing up the potatoes he’d set out. “I take it you don’t mean human food.” He doesn’t stop long enough for Nolan to say anything else before going on. “I do. I have friends who feed me from time to time, but mostly I drink animal blood. It’s easier to get, and I don’t like wasting anything when I hunt.” 

 

Obviously, Nolan knows Travis has gone out and brought back deer and rabbit, but he’d never considered that he’d fed from them. Instead, he’d stayed away while Travis cleaned them, learning after the first time that their dead eyes bothered him. Travis had never mentioned it. 

 

“Nolan, if you’re about to say what I think you, please know I mean it when I said I didn’t bring you here to feed from you. And even if I thought we could have that kind of . . . relationship, you aren’t ready. You might not ever be, and that’s okay.” 

 

“But I-”  _ expected so much worse _ , is all he can think. Nolan knows that’s fucked up, he’d had it drilled into him over and over the wide variety of reasons people would buy him and what their expectations would be. What could happen to him if he refused. None of the lessons said anything about being kept just because. “But why am I here?” Immediately, Nolan bites his lip. “Sorry, I asked that already, I shouldn’t-” 

 

“No,” Travis interrupts, setting his work down and finally stopping to look at Nolan, “no, I should’ve - Are you worried that if you don’t do things for me, that I won’t keep you?” 

 

“Yeah,” Nolan whispers. 

 

“Of course you are,” Travis says, mostly to himself. “I’m sorry, I should’ve thought about that. Even if I said - they would’ve trained you differently.” 

 

“Could we try being friends?” It’s not at all what Nolan expected to hear. He knows he’s staring, but Travis waits him out as he tries to find his words. 

 

“Friends?” 

 

“Yeah. It gets … lonesome, sometimes, you know? Being immortal. Living out here. I like having you around, and I’d like it if we could try being friends.” 

 

“That’s what you want from me?” Nolan asks slowly, heart beating fast. 

 

“Only if you want it, too. I’d like it, yeah, but if it doesn’t work out, this is still your home. That won’t change.” 

 

“I just don’t understand why you’re so nice to me.” 

 

“‘Cause you’re a person, and you deserve kindness. All living things do. The world just . . . doesn’t do things that way, and then bad things happen to those who don’t deserve it.” Not for the first time, it hits Nolan that Travis is old. Much older than himself or Ivan. It shows itself now and again, in the way he talks and the things he says. And it shows in the weariness and sadness that’s currently draining the light from his face. Nolan finds that he dislikes seeing his expression so dimmed. 

 

“Thank you,” he offers softly, and Travis gives him a tired smile. Quiet settles around them, then, as Travis finishes up the stew. It’s hot and rich, and Nolan gets another smile when he nervously gets himself a second bowl. Travis puts the leftovers away while Nolan washes the dishes, and they settle in to watch a movie for the night. It’s almost comfortable. 

 

The chicks hatch about a week later. They’re tiny and fluffy and Nolan shakes as Travis gently deposits one into his hands for him to hold. It’s the first time Travis has touched him since he got here, only a brief brush of their fingers, and Nolan doesn’t have time to worry about it. The chick in his cupped hands seems so fragile, it’s hard to believe it will grow up into a big, feathery bird like the others in the flock. It peeps tinnily, even when Nolan gently brushes its little head and back with a fingertip. 

 

Travis guides him in returning it to the nest, and Nolan watches as it disappears beneath the hen’s feathers. “We’ll have to handle them a lot as they grow, so they’re used to it like the others,” Travis says from behind him. “Any time you want to come down and just sit with them would be good.” 

 

Nolan takes the blanket permission for what it is. He’s still guiltily wary of the dogs, but the chickens are used to him now. The chicks are curious, picking at his clothes and gently pecking at his fingers. He lures them with feed and tries to make sure he holds each for a little bit. Travis is pleased when he goes to scoop one up and it doesn’t seem phased in the least. 

 

“You’re doing a good job. Look at this chill little guy,” he croons, gently ruffling the chick’s baby fuzz. They start putting on feathers, looking awful and awkward and gangly, but Nolan cuddles them all the same. It’s peaceful in the barn, and he helps to keep it clean and gather eggs; it’s nice, really, to feel like he’s being useful and it eases some of the fizzy nerves that used to keep him restless and wandering the house. 

 

The temperature starts to rise as they get deeper into summer, and along with it comes Travis’ first invitation to take Nolan fishing. “We’ll have to get up early to go, but if you want to come? Have you fished before?” 

 

“Yeah, with my - my dad.” Nolan winces; he tries not to think about his family much, the memories sharp and painful in his chest. 

 

“Shit. Sorry, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Travis looks honestly apologetic, aware he’d touched a nerve. 

 

“I’d like to, if that’s okay.” 

 

“Sure it is. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.” Nolan glances up to find Travis grinning now. “We’ll go in a couple days? I have a buddy who’s gonna stop in Sunday, I figured we could do a fish fry.” 

 

Nolan doesn’t quite manage to hide the way his stomach drops, and suddenly Travis looks concerned. “Nolan? What is it?” 

 

“I’m not - you’re not gonna-” He swallows, trying to keep himself from hyperventilating. “This is home, right?” 

 

“Oh. Oh, Nolan, yeah this is your home,” Travis reaches for him for once, but he catches himself before he makes contact. “You’re not going with Lawson, he’s just - we haven’t seen each other in a while, so he was gonna stop by for a couple of days. He’s not taking you anywhere.” 

 

“Okay,” Nolan manages, taking deep, slow breaths. “Okay.” He still feels shaky, but he doesn’t sink entirely into panic. It feels like a win, albeit a small one. 

 

It’s still dark when they leave early Saturday morning. Travis is driving, for once, taking them to a little lakehouse. There’s a dock and a boathouse out back that Travis leads him to, getting the boat ready while Nolan carries in their gear from the truck. Slowly, Travis motors them out onto the water, humming to himself as he guides the boat to what Nolan assumes is a good spot. They settle in there, and Travis leaves him to his own devices once he sees that Nolan knows what he’s doing. 

 

Together, they manage to catch their limit, heading back to the lake house before noon. They repeat the cycle of putting the boat away and packing the truck. Travis takes the time to clean their fish, using the setup in the back of the house and packing the fish on ice for the trip home. Once those are packed away, Nolan digs out the lunch they’d brought, setting everything out on the tailgate of the truck. 

 

“This is nice, eh?” Travis says between bites and Nolan has to agree. This is the most normal he’s felt in a long, long time. 

 

“Thanks for bringing me.” 

 

Travis knocks back the last of his beer and tosses the empty into the bucket in the back of the truck. “I’m glad you came. We can do this more now that it’s summer. C’mon. We should head back.” 

 

Nolan falls asleep somewhere on the drive home, jolting awake when Travis gives his shoulder a little shake. “Sorry,” he says quickly, pulling his hand back. “I just didn’t want you to sleep in the truck. I got most of the stuff in already.” 

 

Rubbing his eyes, Nolan sits up and feels his face turn hot. “Sorry.” 

 

“No, you’re fine. It was an early start. I’m gonna go take a nap myself.” Their shoes crunch in the gravel, and Nolan follows Travis’ cue, crawling back into bed for an early afternoon nap. 

 

Lawson arrives on Sunday around 10. He’s driving himself, parking a truck very similar to Travis’ next to his in the driveway. He’s tall, taller than Nolan and he drags Travis into a bone-crushing hug as soon as he makes it in the door, giving him a couple back slaps before releasing him. “Dude, hey, long time no see. And you must be Nolan?” He offers his hand to shake, but Nolan hesitates long enough for Travis to intercede. 

 

“He’s not big on the touching, Law.” 

 

“Oh, my bad. It’s nice to meet you, anyway.” Lawson is still smiling, shoving his hand in his pocket and nodding at Nolan instead. 

 

“Nice to meet you, too.” 

 

“Shit, you’re quiet. This guy probably talks your head off,” Lawson grabs Travis in a headlock quick, righting him as he stumbles.

 

“Fuck off,” Travis tries to snip, but he’s laughing. “C’mon, you’re gonna help me with the fish.” 

 

“But I’m a guest!” 

 

“Hey, Nolan and I did the hard part. You could at least make fries.” 

 

“Yeah, alright. I’m telling Claude you’re being a bad host, though.” 

 

They continue bickering as they head for the kitchen, leaving Nolan to follow meekly behind. The two of them are loud, which makes his heart race a bit, but their banter is fond. Nolan helps to peel potatoes, putting them in a bowl on the island between him and Lawson, who rinses them and cuts them up, setting in to frying when the oil is hot enough. Meanwhile, Travis is putting together a batter, seasoning up the fish and starting an assembly line. The kitchen gets hot despite the A/C running and the smell of frying food quickly permeates the space. Lawson grabs them plates and silverware, dishing up some of the first batch for Nolan and pushing it across the island toward him. 

 

“Dig in. It’s better when it’s fresh.” 

 

Nolan waits long enough for them to start digging in before he takes his first bite. Travis passes him the salt, and it’s perfect. The fish is hot and flaky with a crunchy crust, and the fries are salty and good. All three of them are stuffed by the time Travis is frying the last of the fish. Lawson’s perched on a chair at the far end of the island from Nolan, dragging the last of his fries through the ketchup and sauce on his plate. 

 

Dusting his fingers off on a napkin, Nolan helps Travis pack the leftovers away, taking the dishes and handwashing them while Lawson and Travis talk. Once the dishes are drying, Nolan slips outside, waiting for a moment to see if Travis calls him back before making his way to the barn. Several of the chickens come running up to him even though they’d already been fed. His heart rate settles as he checks them all over, offering a little extra feed here in there in lieu of a treat. He cleans a little, but most of the chickens are outside, basking in the sun and pecking in the grass for tastier things than their regular feed. 

 

Lawson and Travis are in the living room playing video games when Nolan finally ventures back into the house. He picks up his book and settles in the rarely-used armchair, trying not to feel self-conscious when Lawson shoots him a curious glance. They heat up the leftovers for supper, but Lawson is right; the fish was way better fresh. Still, Nolan goes to bed warm and full and tired. 

 

He wakes in the middle of the night, needing to use the restroom and thirsty all at once. Padding downstairs, Nolan freezes in the hallway at the foot of the stair when he hears a low sound. It’s coming from the living room, and he takes the couple of steps that put him in the doorway. 

 

Immediately, he wishes he hadn’t. 

 

Travis is in Lawson’s lap, both of them naked. The light from the TV reflects off of the wetness on Lawson’s cock and on Travis’ skin where Lawson is sinking into him. They move together with panted breaths and soft moans that Travis can’t seem to hold in as he rolls his hips, Lawson’s cock moving in and out of him. He dips his head, and Lawson jolts, fingers sliding up to fist in Travis’ hair. It’s not until he hears the soft sucking sound that Nolan realizes Travis is feeding. 

 

He bolts, any attempt to be quiet forgotten as he runs back upstairs and to his room. There’s an animal fear clutching at this throat and a deep shame at the way he’d started to get hard watching them have sex. Locking the door behind him, Nolan crawls into bed, listening for the knock he’s sure will come. It takes a while, but eventually there’s a soft rap and Travis calls his name. 

 

“Nolan, I - I know you can hear me. I’m sorry, I probably scared you. Lawson said you saw - well. It’s okay, Nolan. You’re safe. I hope we can talk in the morning.” 

 

Morning comes far too soon. Nolan is tired and headachy from not being able to sleep. He’d kept slipping into nightmares about Ivan touching him, sucking his cock or fucking him that morphed into Travis’ teeth in his neck. He’s not expecting Travis to look just as exhausted, despite the fact that Nolan can tell he’s healthier for having feed. There’s color in his cheeks and a glow to his skin that contrasts starkly with the heavy shadows under his eyes. He’s sitting at the island nursing a coffee while Lawson flips pancakes, turning when he registers Nolan’s footsteps behind him. 

 

“Hey. There’s coffee, if you want?” Travis is being careful, but Nolan’s still nervous. He pours himself a cup, stirring in sugar and one of the fancy, flavored creamers Travis is addicted to. Of course, then he has to decide if he can sit with Travis or if he wants to leave. In the end, he pushes himself, shaking as he sets his cup down on the island, as far as Travis as he can be. 

 

The only sound for a while is that of bacon frying and Lawson putting the food he’s making on plates. Nolan’s surprised when a plate plunks down in front of him, loaded with food. There’s butter and syrup on the island, set within reach. 

 

“Should I stay?” Lawson asks, plate in hand as he looks between Travis and Nolan. 

 

“I think so. I think - Nolan, I think it’d be good for you to hear from Law, too,” Travis explains gently. 

 

“Okay.” Nolan cuts a bite of pancake, surprised to find them filled with chocolate chips as he stuffs them in his mouth for something to do with his hands. He can already feel his face getting hot as he thinks about the night before, their naked bodies and Travis - 

 

“I’m sorry you saw us uh-” To Nolan’s surprise, Lawson pinks up and waves his hand, “Travis said we should’ve moved to the bedroom and I didn’t listen.” 

 

“We hook up, sometimes. As friends. It’s good for us both.” Travis is picking his words carefully, obviously trying not to upset Nolan more. “But Lawson’s right, we should’ve gone upstairs and been more respectful of the fact you live here, too. It won’t happen again.” 

 

They pause, and Nolan realizes they’re waiting for him to say something. He chokes down the pancake in his mouth, clearing his throat. “Okay. T-thanks?” 

 

Travis nods and goes on. “And the other thing . . . I know you saw me bite him. Lawson’s one of the friends who feeds me from time to time.” 

 

“It doesn’t really hurt, and Trav only takes what he needs,” Lawson explains. “I’ve been doing it since we we met, pretty much.” 

 

Looking Lawson over, Nolan finds the faint pink marks on his throat, the vague outline of a ring of teeth. They’re the only ones he can see, and Nolan gets the feeling that they’ll disappear with time. 

 

“I meant it when I said I won’t feed from you. I just thought maybe it’d make you feel better if you saw the people I do feed from are okay.” Travis sounds nervous now, like he’s not confident he made the right choice. Nolan’s not entirely sure he did either; it’s frightening, actually facing the proof of Travis’ inhumanity. But Lawson is up and healthy, drinking coffee as he waits. He doesn’t look hurt or wary. 

 

“Okay. It’s - It’s okay.” Saying it feels like stepping off a cliff, but Nolan gets bright smiles from both Travis and Lawson. It’s easier to relax when the focus isn’t on him, and he tucks into his breakfast. 

 

Lawson leaves that afternoon, giving Travis another tight hug and Nolan a little wave before he heads out. There’s something sad in Travis’ face as he watches Lawson drive away, but Nolan doesn’t say anything about it. It’s gone in the next moment and Travis tells Nolan he’s going to check on the animals. Nolan doesn’t follow, for just a moment, glancing back at the road and the settling dust. Taking a deep breath, he turns and rounds the house, trailing behind Travis down to the barn. 


	3. Epilogue

Juggling his coffee and a bowl of strawberries, Travis manages to get through the patio door without dropping anything. Ivan’s rambling in his ear about a new piece of legislation he’s working to get past, and he stops when Travis curses, having slopped a but of hot coffee over his hand. 

 

“Are you even listening?” Ivan sounds huffy, and Travis barely stifles a laugh. Ivan hardly ever sounds anything but serious. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, werewolves, arbitration, I’m listening.” 

 

On the other end, Ivan sighs, the gust making the audio crackle. “What are you doing, anyway?” 

 

“Going outside. I needed coffee and Nolan wanted strawberries for the chickens.” Travis pauses next to the patio table, taking the opportunity to wipe his hand off and re-situate the bowl to make things easier to carry. 

 

“Nolan?” 

 

Travis can’t quite pin down the tone of Ivan’s voice and he rolls his eyes to himself. “Yeah, Nolan, you know. The guy I got from you last winter.” 

 

“Yes, I - fuck off, Travis.” Ivan sounds well and truly annoyed now, as Travis actually laughs at him. For a moment, Travis is sure he’s going to hang up. Instead, he asks, “How’s he doing?” 

 

Travis looks up and sees that Nolan is watching him from where he’d been playing in the grass with the puppies they found along the road last week. He waves when he realizes Travis is looking at him and Travis waves back. “You know, I think he’s doing okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is ... mostly not a happy story. There is slavery, implied abuse, rape, trauma, angst, a lot of anxiety, and descriptions of anxiety attacks. Ivan is a incubus who buys Nolan at an auction and plans to use him to feed from, and a lot of the tags are tied into that situation. There is a hopeful ending, and Nolan is safe from any further harm by the end.


End file.
